The Burden of Time
by LadyMalfoyx
Summary: 64th Annual Hunger Games. How did Haymitch REALLY come up with his strategy for Peeta and Katniss's starcrossed love? It all started with two tributes from District 10 ten years before... but unlike Peeta and Katniss in their first games, the odds were not in their favour. Which tribute will live to tell their unfortunate tale? Or will they both go down before the final call?
1. The Hill

_A/N: This is my first Hunger Games fan fiction... I'll only continue posting this based on interest so let me know what you think! :) And the rating might change depending on how graphic things get later on.  
_

"No suds," mom snaps as she shoves the pot back into me.

She does this so quickly and suddenly that the pot I just dried off nearly falls to the hard floor. The only thing that keeps me from allowing that to happen was knowing she would probably pick it up and somewhat ironically whack me over the head with it and proceed to yell at me for denting it. So, rolling my eyes, I rub it clean with the cloth again before passing it off to her.

It isn't my fault I wasn't doing very well helping out with the household chores. Dad had promised me that I could come out and work with him today, but I woke up late and found a note that said _Not today. Your mom needs you. Sorry._ They were scheduled to brand the calves today; even the men admit they could use someone as quick and strong as me. I've managed to rope and tie down a calf in five seconds flat, and I've only been doing it for barely seven years. Even the men that've been working on the farm since they could walk can't beat me.

So now, stuck inside, I've already spent far too many hours sweeping, sewing, cooking lunch, and now washing dishes so we can begin the preparations for dinner.

When I pass off the pot to mom this time, she takes it and puts it away, making her satisfaction at my job clear.

So, when there was a knocking upon the door, I nearly trip over the hand-woven rug in attempts to get to it. My mom, however, reaches it first and, after brushing down the wrinkles of her apron, pulls it open. I stayed a few steps behind her, my curiosity keeping me rooted to the floor.

And thankfully so, because Devlin stands on the other side, holding half a loaf of bread in his hand. He passes it over to my mother, who stares at it in wonderment as she takes it.

"What's this for?" she asks, holding it up and taking a whiff. We rarely see fresh bread around here, and to see a whole loaf... it honestly makes me wonder if he stole it. But where would he find the time? He was supposed to be working.

"The Buckleys had a loaf of bread they say are 'too stale' for them. This is one of them," Devlin responds.

My mom breaks it in half. It did crumble, but it was a hard crusted loaf of bread; the inside looks just fine. Torrin gave me a piece of fresh bread a few weeks ago; based on what I remember of its appearance before inhaling it, this isn't quite as fluffy-looking on the inside at the most.

"You know how they are," Devlin adds, shrugging. "Didn't question it. Figured you could use it."

"Well thank you," she says, looking up from the bread to him.

"I'm also here for..." he looks past my mom and catches my eyes, a grin beginning to form. It makes my mom turn around.

"You have chores to finish!" she snaps, trying to shoo me away. "Go."

I back up and away from the hands that attempt to bat me away, but don't depart just yet. "There're only three things left to _dry_, they won't..."

"You finish them before I even consider letting you go anywhere," she cuts in. "Only three, right?"

I scowl and storm off. It's at times like this I wish Kelton had been born a girl; then at least I wouldn't be subjected to this torture almost daily. He's had the opportunity to spend every weekend out with my dad and had since he was eight years old, whereas I only started going out when I was ten and was allowed to return whenever they needed an extra hand roping or herding. Sometimes, if there was an argument about who would do it, I got to muck out the stalls. Even then, while Kelton sometimes was taken from school to help out, I had to at least be out of class to help. Homework completed preferred.

But _this_? I can't stand this. At least, not with mom around perching on my shoulder like a Capitol jabberjay, analyzing and criticizing everything I do.

So I scrub everything clean quickly and efficiently, my only focus at this point being getting out of the house. I move so efficiently that I'm all done cleaning every dish and piling the now-dried and clean plates and pots on the counter space next to the sink.

"Done," I say, untying the apron she insisted I wear this morning and toss it towards the chair in the corner.

"Bedroom," she snaps, pointing to my apron.

"_Really_?"

When I look at her, though, I can see she isn't joking. So, scowling, I grab it and run to my room. Throwing it across the room, I let it flutter into a heap upon the floor at the foot of my bed. I don't even watch it hit the floor before I turn around, slam the door behind me, and hurry back down the hall. Mom calls something after me, but I don't even hear her.

Once I open the front door and step out, I see Devlin still standing there, waiting. He grins when I slam the door behind me.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he presses, his grin turning into a smirk.

I scowl and begin to walk away, heading in the direction of the hill we always spend time together on. "I could've gotten out myself."

"Right," he drawls sarcastically, following me. He doesn't speak again until we begin to climb the hill that would bring us to our destination. "And I didn't steal the bread you just got for dinner."

I stop dead in my tracks at that, my chest constricting upon realizing the implication of his words. Devlin keeps walking, though, only stopping three steps later when he realizes I'm not following.

"Oh come on, Pip; when have you known _anyone_ around here to waste their food?"

"You stole from the family that gives yours work and pay?" I respond, still trying to understand. They aren't even bad people; of all the stories I've heard of rude and borderline-abusive landowners, Mr. Buckley is virtually unheard of on any list of wrongdoings. Maybe he overworks the men during certain times of the season and didn't pay the best, but that isn't totally unheard of. Any misdoings against the men that work for him, our parents among many others that live in the workers' village on his land, are not enough to qualify stealing from him.

"Okay, 'steal' is a bit of a stretch. Gina slipped them to me. She stole from her own family."

My eyebrow cocks at that; at this point I'm not even sure what to believe. It takes me a moment longer to decide I don't really care. As great as Torrin is, and while his family is pretty good to the men that work for them, they aren't always as understanding as him. So long as he isn't affected too adversely by it, or his little sister doesn't call Devlin out on it and get him in trouble, I don't truly care.

So, shaking it off, I follow Devlin up the hill, finally reaching the top. The barbed wire fences are visible further in the distance, guard towers posted every few hundred feet between. They're occupied only half the time, just as the electric fence is only electrified for some sections of the day, but we've never wanted to risk it. Not even 'Daredevil Devlin' himself.

Once at the top of the hill, Devlin plunks down on the green mound of fresh, shining grass at the base of the big tree. As I always had, I leap right over top of him and onto the lowest branch.

"One of these days you'll kick my head," he complains as I climbed up to the next branch, where two thick branches separated and created a perfect spot to nestle in.

"It's been six years, I think you're safe," I drawl, rolling my eyes. He could be such a drama queen sometimes. "So why aren't you working?"

"Why aren't you? Today's branding day. Peacekeepers couldn't stop you if they tried," Devlin retorts, looking up from the ground up to me.

I scowl. "You saw me not five minutes ago; didn't the apron answer your question?"

He shrugs. "I just never thought you'd cave so easily. What happened to the 'you think you know how to rope? Watch and learn' girl we all love to hate yet somehow hate to love?"

I grab an acorn off the tree and whip it down at him. He laughs and shields his head, the hard nut bouncing off his thick forearms and beginning to roll down the hill.

For as far back as I can remember, Devlin has been in my life. We used to run in different circles once school started for us, but when I started helping out on the farm with roping, branding, and milking, he slithered his way into my life, befriending me in a way I never had anyone else. We have an understanding that not even his best of friends have, let alone any of the girls that would attempt to flirt with him could ever dream of. Since we were ten, we've had a comfortable friendship. We wander away from the quarters together to escape the craziness that follows our communal dinners so we can mutter treasonous things about the Capitol, we converse about the state of the horses, the cows, the chickens... we talk about anything and everything.

But in the last two years, when the relationship of respectful chitchat between Torrin Buckley and myself grew to a true friendship, the friendship I've nurtured and cherished with Devlin quickly became tenser. He always complained about how Torrin can't be trusted, that he'd sooner use our 'friendship' to get someone fired or maybe even publically flogged. Or worse. He went on to claim he'd sooner confide in a peacekeeper than he would a boss's child. While Gina, Torrin's younger sister, seems to have a thing for Devlin, he makes a point of keeping her at arm's length.

"If I'd been woken like I should've been, I wouldn't have been cooped up all day. You're so lucky."

Devlin laughs, the pleasant noise picked up by and echoing through the tones of nearby mockingjays. "Yeah, I get my kicks out of having a quota of cattle to brand before lunch," he drawls. "We really could've used you, you know. Kelton doesn't have the speed and aim you do."

I shrug. "What can I say, mom nagged enough."

He sighs. "Nagging women."

"I know." I grin. "They're a terrible species."

"Just you wait; you'll join them. It's inevitable," he teased. "It's a mother's curse."

"Well lucky for you..." I start to climb down the tree; it was getting too sticky for me. Once I'm on the plush floor of the hill, I sit down next to Devlin. "That's not in my plan."

"Oh really? You have a _plan_ now? Does the Capitol approve?"

I rub my hand down the stickiest part of my leg before whacking him. "Only one more Reaping to survive. Given all the tesserae I've had to take, too, that says something. I think the odds _are_ in my favour."

Devlin burst out laughing at that. "Well don't jinx yourself."

"I'm not. I'm stating fact," I respond, shrugging.

And then it was quiet. Too quiet. I could practically hear the peacekeepers I just took note of pacing about in the watchtowers. With the Reaping coming, they must be ramping up security. Wouldn't want a runner after all.

"Then just be careful."

Devlin took me by surprise when he takes my hand and squeezes it. He didn't let go, and for a second I wonder if it's out of fear. Fear of what's to come... fear of loss.

Fear of what may come to be.


	2. The Reaping

It was that day again. Everyone knew the day the Reaping was supposed to take place, but there was always a part of ourselves that hoped it wasn't true. There were other people in other districts that awaited the day they could 'make their district proud', but we weren't one of them. Just like eleven and twelve, being Reaped was a death sentence. In the last sixty-four years the Hunger Games had taken place, we've only had one victor, and he only won because he had come from such a poor family that he was able to survive the hunger pains and was willing to drink his own urine for 'water' when the others wouldn't.

My mother dragged me out of bed in the morning, leading me down past the kitchen, where my brother was drumming his fingers against the table's edge and clearly sweating bullets. Dad was picking at his food; this was the first, and last, year both of his children would be in the Reaping.

My mother led me right past them and the breakfast she'd set and into the bathroom.

"You're first," she told me, leading me right to the bath she'd filled with water.

I stuck a hand in; it was pretty warm. She must've been up for a couple hours if she managed to draw a warm bath; if we wanted warm water, it had to be boiled. We weren't like the merchants and other townsfolk – while half of them might be just scraping by, the other half had running warm water at their command. Maybe she didn't even sleep; she did have some noticeable bags under her eyes, but they were relatively normal to see on her nowadays.

"When you're done, get changed. I'll have something laid out for you."

And then mom stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

I barely had time to eat by the time I was done bathing and getting helped to be prettied up. I hated it, every bit of it. Being tied into a dress, having my hair pulled into submission and up so I 'wouldn't be mistaken for a boy'. It was ridiculous.

Why couldn't I have been born Kelton and he me? I was everything dad wanted out of Kelton, and Kelton had a surprising number of abilities mom expected out of me. It was twisted.

It was ten o'clock when we milled out of the house, joining with every other family that lived in the ranch hand quarters with us. Devlin found me as we were crossing the field en masse.

"Pip!"

I waited for him to catch up before managing a smile and responding, "Hey. How're you?"

"Not too bad. No greater day than one where you do so much as twitch and you get shot, eh?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't say that. Do you really want that to happen again?"

The sad thing was it was true; two years ago one of the adults from a neighbouring ranch was putting his hands into his pockets and his hand spasmed as he did so. The peacekeepers thought he was going to pull a weapon and put a bullet through his head. To this day I wonder if the Capitol censored it out or showed it to make a point of something.

"No. But they may as well do that to those they Reap, given how that's pretty much the inevitable..." he shrugs.

"Hey."

I jump, taken by surprise at the proximity of the familiar voice; where did Torrin come from?

"Last time we have to suffer this," he says as he comes up to my other side, a smile planted upon his face. His smile's so contagious that I found myself beginning to grin too.

"Yeah. Last time we..." Devlin's hand suddenly grips mine. He didn't put emphasis on the 'we' verbally, but this little move made it clear just how strongly he was excluding Torrin from it. "Have to suffer this. So how many times is your name in now?"

Torrin didn't respond to that. He's lucky, being from a family rich enough to own land and hire workers. While he does his share of work, it's merely to prepare for taking his father's place. They probably laugh at the ones who have to take tesserae, which is ironic because all of the employees and their families – _us_ – are ones that do.

"Well one of the hardest parts is nearly over now," I point out, taking Torrin's subtle offer of his arm. Following this, I notice his previously fallen expression lifts just a fraction.

"You think this is hard?" Devlin asks, surprised.

"It can really feel like death row," I complain. "It's even worse now with Kelton in there. He may be annoying but no one deserves this, least of all him."

"But it won't be," he assures. "It's been this long already; why now?"

But even I can't deny just how determined he sounds, like he's trying to convince himself of that truth. A part of me hopes that, should fate conspire against me and pull me into the 64th annual Hunger Games, at least Devlin be there so I had someone supportive I could trust. At the same time, though, that was the worst possible outcome. There was no way I could kill him when the time came; he was like a brother to me.

"It'll be over soon enough; before you know it you'll wonder why you were worrying," Torrin adds a few moments later, clearly choosing his words carefully. Best not set off the ticking time bomb that is Devlin after all.

"I'm not really worried about the Reaping. It happens. It's just hard waiting for it to be over so we can return to life as normal."

"Because it's normal to watch kids fight to the death..." Devlin mutters.

He does have a point; while it might be viewed as the greatest event of the year by those of the Capitol and the potential for greatness in others, to us it's just a disgusting fact of life we we're forced to endure.

The crowds were thickening around us as we began to make our way through the streets, nearing the city square. The Justice Building was already in view; it was just a matter of time before we stood before it. For a moment, when my eyes took in the sight of all those children lining up behind the Peacekeepers' registration tables, the number '38' ran through my head. Thirty-eight slips.

Maybe the odds weren't in my favour after all.

Before I know it, though, Devlin's little sister is dragging him away, even more desperate to get this over with than he is. He waves a goodbye as she drags him into the masses, refusing to let him go. It made me realize I hadn't seen Gina yet today. Usually she tried to latch herself onto Devlin's side, prodding as many words out of him as she possibly could.

"Last time," Torrin reinforces, his hand sliding down my arm and taking mine, squeezing it.

"If only it were that simple." This was the last year I could protect Kelton from having to provide us for food. There were things I had done to receive money or food that I was far from proud of, and now? Kelton was a boy; he couldn't do what I had done to keep us afloat during the hardest times without having to put my name in more times. He might have no choice but to put his name in even more often than I had.

I should've tried to do more... I should've spent the last few months stockpiling, so that should I be reaped there was less of a chance...

"Hey." Torrin turns me, forcing me to face him. "It'll be okay. The more you worry about the future, the more unnecessarily painful the present becomes."

"But the present just might become unfortunately painful if..." I started to complain.

"Just for this time, this event, live in the present. Nothing else matters." His hand then released from mine, but then suddenly came up to my face with the other, surprising me with this borderline inappropriate intimacy. "The more you stress, the worse it is."

I think recognized Gina's grating voice screeching, "Torrin!"

I couldn't decide which was more surprising: the fact Torrin was still cupping my face, at an event that was broadcasted live to the entire nation, or what followed...

His lips press against my forehead.

"Good luck."

And then he was gone.

I stare after him, fighting to keep my gawking internal. Even Devlin had never tried to do such a thing, let alone actually gone through with it, and we'd made it past a couple of awkward situations that pushed the boundaries of friendship.

I try to force it from my mind as I join the line for my last name, anxiously waiting as it moves slower than a cow grazing in pasture. Were the Peacekeepers trying to torture us? Don't they do that enough on a regular basis?

The transformation the square underwent overnight blew over me; usually it was just a plot of dirt that had multiple little stores lining its edge and a dinky, dusty fountain sat in the middle. Now the dirt is covered with some sort of fake grass, fences of rope have been put up, and the fountain is so clean that the water that now ran through it, bringing some semblance of life to the former glory of the chiseled stone, was as clear as the sky above our heads.

I was so anxious to have this done with that I barely notice the jab to my finger when the Peacekeeper draws my blood and registers me. Once she's done, I hurry off and join the other girls my age. After some pushing through the crowd, I find Jocelyn, a girl that lives with her parents, two brothers, and one sister two doors down from me on the Buckley's land.

When I finally join the group, it seems like I lost all ability to speak; I barely manage to keep up with the conversation, let alone nod in acknowledgement. When feedback from the microphone echoes around the square, I'm almost relieved.

"Welcome, welcome..."

And so begins the agony my ears must experience. It's bad enough the people of the Capitol look like slaughtered cattle, but that accent was enough to make ears bleed.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

Standing in front of the Justice Building on its veranda is Liberty Lacey, otherwise known as our district escort. She was relatively new, only transferring from district 11 two years ago. Her hair was stuck flat to her head, obscured by a hat that was bigger than both hers and the mayor's head, and began to flip out at angles that seemed to defy gravity. The colour theme she chose this year was a putrid green only seen on the faces of people moments before they get sick. Even her fake eyelashes were of the colour.

I almost became physically ill looking at the colour. It was the colour of bile. Maybe we'd be doing her a favour by vomiting. That way we would match her outfit.

I zoned out somewhere between her place being taken by the mayor and her return to the microphone to add to whatever the mayor said about the history of the Games. Why did they insist on dragging this out? It was the same every year, repeated twelve times each go. Did they ever grow tired of it, or did they think it was some sick form of building anticipation?

If it was the latter, they were doing a fine job.

"Now, without further ado..." Liberty fights with the stand to remove the microphone. When she succeeds, she makes her way towards the reaping ball. "Ladies first."

She reaches in and begins to swirl her hand around the painfully full bowl of paper slips. After dragging it out for nearly a minute, she secures a piece of paper and lifts it out. That seems to take longer than her originally picking it.

She begins to unfold it and stares for a moment. Once she clears her throat, she announces the name written before her.

"Pippa Falk."

My heart plummets into my stomach, and for a moment I seriously wondered if I would bring up the colour of our escort's outfit on the ground before me. Is this how every tribute feels? My head was spinning, trying desperately to grasp what just happened and the enormity of it.

One piece of paper stood between me and death. How pathetic.

"Where... are you...?" Liberty begins to scan the crowds with eyes like a cat, narrowed in focus and darting about as she tries to locate me.

Maybe if I stay in this group of friends, she would forget the name she drew and take another. I would live to see another day with my family, despite how they sometimes made me want to rope them alongside the cattle marked for branding or slaughter.

I would live _period_.

But the girls betray me and begin to step away, giving me wide berth as though I was contagious. I knew they had no choice, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt any less.

Liberty's eyes snap to me and her face alights with her infamous smile.

"Come up."

The circle of my now old friends that gave me berth grew, the lines of people before and behind me separating. The peacekeepers use this space to come up between it and grab me, roughly pulling me from the crowd and to the aisle created by the remaining peacekeepers' rigid control.

I want to fight, but if I make any more movement than necessary, I might find myself in more trouble. My best chance at survival, my best chance at keeping my family alive at that, was to follow along, play the game the Capitol created.

And then it clicks; if I'm to survive and be considered as someone more than a piece of meat by other competitors, I was better off doing this on my own.

So I yank myself out of the harsh grip of the peacekeepers, raise my head, and all but saunter up to the stage. At first the peacekeepers try to regain control of me, but when they realize I'm not trying to escape, they leave me be, simply following closely until I reach the steps. Liberty waved me up, and at this moment I feel like a show horse up for auction.

Liberty only touches me in order to guide me to where I needed to stand. Once in place, she lets me go and announces its time for the boys. I take the moment to compose myself, trying to look as though my being Reaped had the littlest effect on me, and wait in agony as Liberty begins the same game of swirling her hand about in the bowl of boys' names.

Why must she play this game? Is it under her contract as escort to see if she can push anyone into cardiac arrest?

Just when I begin to wonder if fate would free me from this agony with such an event, she pulls a slip from the bowl. I clench my teeth together to keep them from rattling as she opens it up and takes a moment to gather herself.

"Torrin Buckley."

The very first thing my eyes do is find him in the crowd, lined up with other fellow sons of landowners. He looks as though he had just been shot in the leg.

The boys were even quicker to separate, stepping as far away from him as possible. He was rooted to the spot, clearly still trying to register the news. Just like I had.

This had to be the first time I ever understood what a Buckley must be feeling.

Just like they had me, the peacekeepers made their way into the crowd to gather Torrin and drag him up. He walks with them, clearly too focused on his thoughts to watch where he was going. I couldn't help but wince when he stumbles on the first step. I bet the other districts and those of the Capitol are already laughing. The only thing that keeps me going at this point is knowing that we aren't the biggest laughingstock of the nation. No, we were fortunate enough to be from ten. If we were from twelve, that would be a different story.

When Torrin's eyes finally find mine, I almost burst into tears right then. He was a lost little boy, desperate to understand...

Wanting nothing more than to go home.

But I have no choice. He's no longer one of my closest friends, the boy that my parents wanted so badly for me to marry. The boy that wanted nothing more than to make me smile.

He was my competition...

My enemy.

And this time, when our hands touch to shake – as per tradition – there's something colder to it. As much as I wished to fear the truth, there was no denying that the distance was bound to set in, now more than ever.


	3. Goodbyes

While the hour we were given to say our goodbyes seems to short, in the end it felt painfully long. Knowing it would be my last time seeing them again didn't hit me until they were taken away. I was just about to let myself succumb to every emotion that was flying through me when the door opened again.

Devlin shut the door behind him and crossed the room, nearly breaking into a run to reach me and pull me into a close, tight hug. When I reciprocate, I swallow the lump in my throat and try to blink back my tears. A few escape in the process, but at least the dam doesn't break.

When he pulls away, his hands come up to my face, just like Torrin's had not even an hour ago when trying to tell me everything would be okay, that I would probably be laughing about the anxiety I was just beginning to put myself through. Did he jinx the odds by bringing it up?

"You are the best damn roper anyone has ever seen; whatever you do, wherever you may be, don't forget that."

"Cattle, Dev. Big target, no intent to slaughter," I complain.

"It doesn't matter, Pip. A rope around a neck pulled quickly and tightly enough can kill. Even then, pull them down hard enough to knock them dazed or unconscious. They won't see you coming." His hands finally leave my face, but only go down to gently twist his fingers into the ponytailed section of my braid, his eyes falling to the cascading waves of my dirty blonde hair. "You'll be back before you know it."

"Yeah. Me. Alone."

There was no denying the hardness that overcame his eyes, even if it was for a split second. "Why do you care so much about him? If anything this is a good thing."

"He was your job guarantee, Dev. Any of your children's job guarantee," I reply. "Does even that not mean a thing to you?"

"That's what Gina's for." His eyes meet mine, and it's clear he really doesn't want to argue this. I don't either; this isn't the way I want to remember my closest friend, the one I could trust with my life.

The door creaks open again, and Jocelyn steps in. She takes a look at us, completely still and silent for one awkward moment.

"I can wait..." She then steps back and pulls the door shut.

We weren't ever truly that close, if anything we were acquaintances, but knowing someone else cares enough to see me at this time is painfully touching.

When Devlin finally speaks again, he says the one thing that poked a few holes in the dam holding in my tears. "I'll climb your tree every day so it doesn't feel lonely while you're gone."

Given how much he hates climbing anything that wasn't a clean and sturdy ladder, hearing that means a lot.

"You're going to be keeping it company a long time because..."

"You hog-tied and held down a hundred-pound calf by yourself long enough to be branded. If you can do something that even the most seasoned of us can have issues doing without another's assistance, you can do anything."

"They're animals, Dev..." I complain.

When I finally meet his gaze, the intensity he meets me with is almost enough to make me recoil. "It's no different."

There's banging on the door, a two minute warning called through. Devlin pulls me into another hug and I feel the pressure of his lips on my hair. "I'll see you soon," he says as he pulls away and backs up to the door. His eyes are wild and desperate; I have no choice...

"See you," I force out, my lips trembling as they try to decide whether to smile or sob.

And then, just like that, I was denied a proper goodbye, the only thing I want and truly need at this point. He was gone, and I would never get the chance to see him again, to right every wrong I've ever made.


End file.
